Velma was overthinking Brek. And his proposal. And her refusal. Which she was now questioning on an hourly basis.
“Brek propositioned me.”
“Again?”
“He wants to be friends with benefits.” Velma stirred her drink—the swirling cubes of ice matching the feeling in her chest.
“Yeah. And?” Claire stared at Velma with an absurd amount of interest.
“And I said no.” Velma’s hand fell on something sticky along the edge of the table.
Claire raised an eyebrow and Velma flinched. That look. The one that told her Claire was ready to pounce for information. “But you thought about saying yes?”
Velma nodded.
“Oh my God, Velvet. This is crazy.”
Gah. Velma had done more than think about saying yes—she’d nearly brought it up to him twice. Nearly. Both times she’d caught herself. Nowhere in any of her plans did a short-term fling with a guitar-playing biker come into play.
“I can’t blame you. I mean, have you seen him?” Claire licked her lips. “The other day when he was with Jase showing me options for our flowers... I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Dean, but, you know, Brek’s not hard to look at.”
Velma squirmed. She shouldn’t care that her sister checked out Brek. Not when she, herself, had admired Dean. Still, though, it felt wrong. “I want a guy like Dean. Like what you two have.”
Heather hopped back onto her barstool. “They’re bringing our drinks over. What are we talking about?”
“Velma wants to hook up with Brek.” Claire grinned like she’d won the lottery. “And the feeling is mutual.”
“Get out.” Heather smacked Velma’s shoulder. “You totally should. I would. You could use a little of Brek’s brand of fun.”
Claire sat taller. “Agreed. It’s like a reset button. To help you get over the whole Tommy thing.”
Velma’s heart dropped at the mention of Tommy. The last guy she’d seriously dated forever ago. The last guy she’d gone to bed with.
He’d told her she was boring.
In bed.
The hit to her pride pierced a lasting sting.
“I want a relationship. A husband. Not just a roll in the sheets with Brek. I want what Claire has with Dean.” Velma dropped her head to the table. Her forehead fell into the stickiness. Regret immediately followed the move.
She was midwipe with her napkin on her forehead when the door to the joint opened and—fudge, Brek had found her bar.
Her heart tripped over her ribs. She glanced to Heather. Then to Claire.
Heather looked to the door. She rubbed her hands together. “Tonight just got so fun. You’re gonna go press the reset button.”
The waitress pushed two new Shirley Temples in front of Velma. “A regular Shirley Temple and a vodka Shirley Temple.”
“Oh, Velvet, I fixed your drink order. You’re welcome.” Heather beamed.
Velma was going to need vodka to get through the night. She took a long sip from the straw.
Her gaze slid back to Brek in time to see a look of shock pass over his features.
She focused on her spiked Shirley Temple.
“You should go over there,” Claire encouraged.
